


The Record Sped Back Up

by fructosebat



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, SHIP DARCY WITH ALL THE THINGS
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-17
Updated: 2012-10-20
Packaged: 2017-11-16 12:09:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/539256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fructosebat/pseuds/fructosebat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We’re Science Bros.” Tony halted. Bruce stumbled a little, looking back at Tony, who gripped Bruce by both shoulders. “We are Science Bros, right, Banner? Tell me we’re Science Bros.”</p><p>	Bruce put on his Serious Face. “We’re Science Bros.”</p><p>	Tony held out a fist, and after a moment of confusion, Bruce bumped his own against it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Haven't written a fic in a long while, and never before for the Avengers fandom. This is mostly an experiment for me to see if I can still get my writing on. Also, so much love for Darcy. Many thanks to DragonKitty for beta-reading for me!

“Welcome to your new playroom!” said Tony, opening the door to the lab with a flourish. Bruce followed him inside at more sedate pace, taking in his surroundings with quiet interest. 

“I made sure you got all the best toys,” he continued. “You’re a physicist, right? Right,” Tony said, not waiting for an answer. “But I didn’t know your specialty, so I just got you a little of everything. _Technically_ you work in R &D. But, look, here,” Tony grabbed Bruce by the shoulders—not typically a good idea—and steered him to one end of the room. “You got your particle physics corner, your robotics lab,” Tony gestured, “and the,” he sneered, “biology section.” Tony misinterpreted Bruce’s blink as disgust. “I know, but I wanted to be thorough.

“I have my own workshop down the hall, and I’ll give you the code if you promise not to let the other science flunkies have it.”

There was a pause, and Bruce realized a response was required of him. “Uh—I promise.” Receiving a tour from Tony Stark, Bruce mused, was a bit like being caught in the center of a whirlwind. 

“Great! JARVIS, make sure Dr. Banner has access to that code if he asks for it.”

“Of course, sir,” said a disembodied voice.

Bruce’s eyes widened. “Who--?”

“Oh, that’s my A.I., JARVIS,” explained Tony. “He can help you with whatever—well, within limits,” here Tony waggled his eyebrows. “Come on!”

Bruce was pushed along into the hallway, where Tony pointed out the door to his lab. “You’ll come visit me,” said Tony.

“Sure,” said Bruce.

“We’re Science Bros.” Tony halted. Bruce stumbled a little, looking back at Tony, who gripped Bruce by both shoulders. “We are Science Bros, right, Banner? Tell me we’re Science Bros.”

Bruce put on his Serious Face. “We’re Science Bros.”

Tony held out a fist, and after a moment of confusion, Bruce bumped his own against it.

Then the record sped back up and Tony was shunting Bruce towards another door along the hallway. “ _Here_ are your new friends,” he announced, throwing the door open. Several people in white coats were in various stages of coffee preparation and food consumption in what appeared to be a break room. “Dr. Cool, Dr. Funny, and Dr. Tiny. This is Dr. Banner,” he said to the room at large. “He promises not to turn into an enormous green muscley brute and destroy all your labs,” at this, Tony gripped both Bruce’s shoulders and jostled him a bit. “Go get ‘em,” said Tony in his ear. Then he pushed him forward into the room. Bruce heard the door close behind him.

“Hello,” said Bruce, wringing his hands. 

***

It was later. Bruce was finally alone in his lab, and he hardly knew what to do with himself. It had been rather a while since he’d had his own lab. This one had everything: filing cabinets, shiny countertops, test tubes, toolkits, machinery. Hell, there was even a lab coat hung up on a coat rack near the door. And floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall—probably a good idea in case the Other Guy made an unwelcome appearance and needed a quick escape route. (No panic room, or anything, Bruce was sure. It wasn’t like there was anything that could really hold him once he was transformed.) Bruce stared around the lab for a full five minutes, trying to take it all in.

The other scientists had been surprisingly friendly, considering…well, considering. ‘Dr. Funny’ was a Japanese woman, who was actually Dr. Hikari Miya. She revealed that Tony called her ‘Dr. Funny’ because he claimed she didn’t have a sense of humor. “Not true,” she had said. “I just don’t feel the need to entertain him.” She was one of the top cellular biologists in the world.

‘Dr. Cool’ was a large black man—Dr. Ray Jones. He didn’t mind being called ‘Dr. Cool.’ He didn’t seem to mind much of anything. “Stark may be annoying, but the funding is bottomless, and the labs here are great,” he had confessed over a large mug of coffee. 

‘Dr. Tiny’ was Dr. Jane Foster, an astrophysicist. She was, indeed, a fairly petite brunette. She had been tiredly picking at some kind of pastry, without seeming to be aware of what she was eating. Bruce hadn’t been able to read many science journals recently (what with being a fugitive, and all), but he had heard Jane Foster’s name spoken. “I heard you met Thor,” she had said to him, after pulling him aside.

“Um—briefly,” said Bruce.

Dr. Foster tried to act casual. She was not a particularly good actress. “Did he mention me at all?”

“Uh,” said Bruce.

“Well, never mind,” she said, waving a hand. “Welcome, anyway. I should get back to my lab.”

Now Bruce stood in his lab— _his lab,_ it hardly seemed real—and finally forced himself to go shrug on the lab coat by the door. It was new, and starched. It still had creases in it. Bruce took a moment to study the contrast to his faded, secondhand button-down shirt.

Then it was time to touch all the countertops, poke buttons on lab equipment, and open and close filing cabinets, looking for manuals. There was a small bookshelf in the corner, fully stocked with shiny, new books. Bruce scanned the titles, took out a few, paged through them, put them back. Sat down at his shiny new desk. Felt lost.

“Now what?” he asked, and his voice echoed through the empty white room.

***

The day after they defeated Loki, after Tony dragged them all to eat Schawarma in exhausted silence, after they all dragged themselves to some bed or another and collapsed and woke up the next morning not exactly knowing how to feel…the day after that, Steve was called into Director Fury’s office in the New York City-based SHIELD compound. It felt a bit like he’d been called into the Principal’s office.

“We need you to lay low,” said Fury.

“Lay low,” repeated Steve, a little dangerously.

“I know you don’t approve of some of our tactics, and I would be happy to discuss that with you at greater length if I didn’t have to deal with an enormous post-op cleanup right now, so let me just give it to you straight, Captain.”

Steve leaned forward a little in his seat.

“You don’t have too many options right now,” said Fury slowly. “You are a very recognizable figure from this nation’s history, which is going to help in our cleanup of this city, but only if you remain a bit of a mystery. As soon as the U.S. Military reviews the tapes of yesterday’s battle, they’re going to be hammering on our door looking for you, since they know it was our jurisdiction.”

Steve’s brow creased. “But the army—“

“The trouble with the army, Captain, is that they will pack you up and ship you off to Afghanistan the very minute they lay their hands on you.” Fury continued where Steve would have interrupted. “And you would be very valuable to the army’s efforts over there, but the situation in the Middle East is extremely…political.” Fury steepled his hands in front of him on the desk. “I’m afraid that, as complicated as politics were back during your war, they have grown even more complicated in the meantime.” Fury placed his hands flat on the desk. “We—you—wouldn’t want you to be seen backing the wrong side in anything.”

Steve took a moment to digest this. “All right,” he allowed.

“We also don’t want any politicians grabbing hold of you, for much the same reasons. And the public—well, if people found out you weren’t a myth…I’m sure you can imagine the outcry for further understanding of your unique abilities.”

“Are you saying I can’t even go outside?” asked Steve, after a long pause.

“If it can be avoided,” said Fury evenly.

“Not even to help the cleanup?”

Fury just looked at him.

And Steve marched back to his SHIELD-issued apartment, because he was a Good Soldier. Good Soldiers didn’t typically then sit and stew and resent their orders, though.

The day after that, Steve made his way back to the gym he’d spent so many hours in, destroying punching bag after punching bag. There were some SHIELD agents there that he didn’t know, sparring, and then laughing and joking with one another. Steve retreated to his apartment.

The day after _that,_ Black Widow knocked on his door. Steve stood when she entered, called her “ma’am,” went to the SHIELD mess to sit and eat with her and Hawkeye— _Clint,_ as he insisted, just as Black Widow requested that she be _Natasha._ The three of them sat and ate, while other agents in the mess pretended not to stare. Clint pretended to be all right, Natasha—well, who knew? The woman was unreadable—and Steve was polite and quiet and mostly just wanted to go back to his place and stew some more.

The day after _that_ found Steve staring at the bland wall of his tiny kitchen and thinking unpleasant thoughts. Unpleasant thoughts were all he’d really been able to think since awaking in this new century.

Steve thought of the war, he thought of Dr. Erskine telling him that Steve was a good man, of Dr. Erskine’s dying moments. He thought of Bucky, of Bucky’s easy camaraderie with him that _didn’t change_ after Steve had become—had undergone Dr. Erskine’s treatment. He thought of Bucky’s face falling away into the distance in the snow as freezing wind blew past him, thought of the train moving on uncaring that Bucky had left it. He thought of Peggy, and how she’d fired a gun at his shield when she thought he’d been cheating—Steve smiled at little at that. Peggy was—had been one bold lady. He thought of knowing he was going to die, feeling Red Skull’s plane dropping in altitude, knowing that what he was doing was right, ready to make the sacrifice, Peggy’s voice in his ear as he fell.

And Steve thought of waking up, of the dirty trick SHIELD had played, of his decision to be a Good Soldier even though he could feel himself falling apart, of learning of SHIELD’s _deception,_ of the weapons so like Hydra’s. He thought of the battle with the Chitauri on the streets of his hometown—unrecognizable streets, but just _knowing_ —thought of how giving orders to his teammates was the first time he really felt alive since he had woken from death. 

The walls were closing in. 

Steve would have grabbed a wallet, but he didn’t have one to grab. Instead he put on a light jacket and tucked the small, plastic bank card they’d given him into his pocket. Getting out was easy—a couple of SHIELD agents had parked themselves on a bench near his door, and they stood up as he approached, but they moved aside when he glared at them. And now he was out in the sunshine, and maybe it didn’t quite feel as real yet to him as it should, but at least it felt realer than his apartment, and that was something, at least.

***

About fifteen minutes after Bruce had sat down at his desk, his meditation was interrupted by the sound of high heels clicking down the hallway. A tall, professionally-dressed woman carrying a slim briefcase appeared in his doorway. She paused, taking in the room, and then approached him with a smile.

“I’m Pepper,” she said, shaking his hand. “Did Tony tell you about me?”

“Bruce,” he said. “Did Tony tell you about _me?_ ”

She laughed at that. “Yes. _Repeatedly._ He seems to…hold you in high esteem,” she finished politely.

“Yes, he did seem impressed with my…condition,” Bruce said, only a trifle bitterly.

Pepper looked rather understanding. “Well, there was that, but he also referred to you as his new ‘bestie,’ and then went on at length about science—something, I don’t know. I’m the CEO of Stark Industries,” she said, smiling modestly. “I’m required to know business-speak, not science-speak.”

Bruce didn’t know what to say, so he chuckled nervously and twisted his hands around each other.

“Let’s sit,” Pepper suggested, gesturing to a lab table. “I’m guessing Tony didn’t give you a proper orientation.”

“Well,” said Bruce, sinking onto a stool, “I did get the tour…”

“We’ll have someone give you a _real_ tour later,” Pepper said. “For now, there’s a few things you should know.” She swung her briefcase up onto the desk and pulled out a folder and a tablet. Opening the folder and pushing it across the table at him, she said, “You’ve probably been wondering what would happen to you, regarding your fugitive status.”

“The thought had crossed my mind,” said Bruce wryly.

“We’ve hired a team of three of the best lawyers in the country for your defense. Don’t worry, Stark Industries is completely fine with covering your transition,” Pepper said, with a small smile. “We’re not letting the government get their hands on you.” Bruce felt a knot of tension unwind in his gut, something that had been there so long he’d almost forgotten its existence. “I have a feeling you’ll be making great contributions to our Research  & Development department.”

“These are the names of my lawyers?” asked Bruce, paging through the folder she’d handed him.

“Yes, and there’s an outline of their initial strategy. They’ll want to meet with you about details soon—we’ve given them your number—oh! Here,” Pepper said, pulling a small black rectangle from her pocket. “Your new phone.” Bruce accepted it and started pressing buttons. “You’re welcome to get a different one to replace it, or a different plan outside of the company, if you like, but don’t let Tony catch you using anything but StarkTech—he’ll pitch a fit.

“Annnnd your tablet,” said Pepper, switching on the tablet. “I’ve included some basic apps, and this list,” she tapped something on the screen and pushed it across to him. “I had a feeling Tony left you here with the instruction to ‘do science,’ and then didn’t specify.”

“Something like that,” said Bruce, fighting a smile.

“Those are some of the ideas that Tony’s come up with, and a few that the company are interested in pursuing,” she pointed at various items on the list with one well-manicured nail. “You’re welcome to explore ideas of your own, though. Tony made it _very clear_ that you’re to be given free rein within our labs, and full funding. And that should be all, for now!” Pepper stepped daintily back off her stool, closing her thin briefcase as she did so. Bruce followed her to the door.

“How do I—“ he started, “I don’t even—I don’t know how to say ‘thank you’ for all of this—“

“You don’t have to,” said Pepper quickly. “Really. Consider it a thank you from me. I saw some footage from the—I saw what you did. This is a thank you for saving my—for saving Tony.”

“I can’t take credit for something that I didn’t control.” Bruce couldn’t meet her eyes.

“Well, you don’t have to take it,” Pepper said, not unkindly. “But I’m leaving it here.”

Bruce finally looked back up at her. “Okay.”

Something in Pepper’s manner said ‘Moment over.’ She shook his hand again. “Welcome to Stark Industries, Dr. Banner. Let me know if you need any more help settling in.” Her high heels went clacking away down the hall.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t trust SHIELD,” Steve said abruptly.
> 
> Tony tossed the rag aside. “Probably a wise decision.”

Steve made it past the enormous bank of receptionists in the lobby of Stark Tower, and worked out that he needed to go to R&D to find Mr. Stark himself. The receptionists were _not keen_ to let him anywhere near the man himself—‘Mr. Stark is not to be disturbed. Do you have an appointment?’—but he told them he knew other people in R &D, so they let him pass. Banner was working here, right? He’d seen Banner get into Tony’s car when they all parted ways.

The first floor of the R&D Department was fifty-one stories up. There weren’t any placards on the doors, but a helpful lab assistant told him he should head for floor 60, then turned back to what she was doing, which seemed to involve some sort of purple goo.

Still no placards on floor 60, but there was a familiar face.

“I thought you would wind up here,” said Steve, pausing in the doorway.

Bruce looked up from a teeny-tiny computer device. “Oh. Hello, Steve. Didn’t think I’d—uh—be seeing you again so soon.”

“I’m looking for Stark,” said Steve. “Could use his help on something.”

“Right down the hall—oh. It’s locked. I’ll take you,” said Bruce, standing and leading the way. He pushed some buttons on a keypad, and then the door opened onto what looked like a collision of a lab with an auto repair shop.

“Banner!” rang out Stark’s voice from somewhere amid the machinery. “I knew you couldn’t resist my charms for long. It hasn’t even been three hours and you come a-calling—“ Stark appeared around a pile of stacked metal and halted when he saw them. 

Bruce chose this moment to retreat. “I’ll just—go and—do science…” The door shut behind him.

“Mon Capitan!” said Stark, wiping machine oil off his hands on a rag. “Always a pleasure. Can I say, loving the lumberjack look, plaid never really goes out of style.”

“I don’t trust SHIELD,” Steve said abruptly.

Tony tossed the rag aside. “Probably a wise decision.”

“They’ve got agents outside the apartment they put me up in. Fury told me to ‘lie low’ so the military won’t get their hands on me.” Steve worked his jaw. “Way I figure it, my commission’s been up for—“

“About seventy years,” Tony agreed. 

“SHIELD doesn’t want anyone else to take me—and it’s because they want to keep me. I’m an _asset,_ ” Steve nearly spat the word. “I can’t deny I’d want to help if something like—the Chitauri happened again. But I don’t want to ally myself with the wrong people. Fury said the military’d ship me off to the Middle East, to the war there, but—that’s not my war. I don’t…” Steve trailed off, staring at the floor.

“You don’t want anyone to own you,” said Tony after a long moment. Steve raised his eyes to meet Tony’s. “You got it, Cap!” Tony was in motion again, moving from computer console to computer console, pressing his fingers to displays and sending lights and patterns zooming off in dizzying formations around the room. “Lemme see,” Tony peered at a screen. “Well, you lucked out, SHIELD set up your new identity so you’re autonomous, you don’t have any official links to them. Can’t guarantee they won’t keep an eye on you—actually, I can guarantee that they will, but, hey, let’s get you some new digs!” Various apartment listings appeared on a number of monitors, some of them even floating in the air. “You wouldn’t want to live here, would you?” Tony paused and looked at him. “Got some very plush bungalows here in the Tower, could hook you up. Special ‘National Icon’ price.”

“I think…not,” said Steve. “Sorry.”

“No big. JARVIS,” Tony said, apparently to thin air. “Do some real estate-hunting for our Steven.”

“Yes, sir,” said a British-accented voice. Steve looked around for the speaker, but couldn’t find him.

“Hey, forgot to ask, what’s your budget?” said Tony.

“Oh. Um—I have this plastic card,” offered Steve, pulling it from his pocket and offering it to Tony.

“Great, JARVIS, scan this, do a lookup.” Blue lights flickered across the surface of the card as Tony held it up. “Wow. Nice going, Cap.” Tony pointed to the seemingly-random screen that had just flickered to life with a row of numbers. “You make that on a Captain’s salary?”

Steve blinked and stared at the numbers. “They said it was my back pay, plus a bonus for—y’know—the Chitauri.”

Tony whistled. “I’m not even gonna ask where they get their funding. We’ll get you a new account with a different bank—JARVIS?”

“Handling it, sir.”

“Someone’ll run out and get you your new card; you’ll have it by the end of the day. You need IDs?”

“My last one expired in ’48,” said Steve sheepishly.

“JARVIS, be a darling and finagle something,” said Tony.

“Of course, sir,” said the voice.

“All right, and what,” Tony led Steve over to yet another computer console, “do you think of this apartment?” There were multiple photos of what looked like a bright-looking studio. “Spacious, it’s in Manhattan, beautiful views!”

“I guess. As long as it’s not owned by SHIELD. I’d like a good view—I like to draw,” Steve admitted.

Tony’s eyes kind of went distant for a moment. “Yeah, I had heard that.” Probably from his father, Steve assumed. Seemed that was a touchy subject. Blinking that away, Tony moved on. “You can rent for now, decide later if you want to buy. JARVIS?”

“Phoning them now, sir, and an assistant will be on his way upstairs shortly with Captain Rogers’ new IDs and bank information.”

“You’re the best, JARVIS.”

“I don’t need telling, sir, but the recognition is appreciated.”

“Captain Rogers will be in Banner’s labs, JARVIS,” said Tony, ushering Steve towards the door. “Great to see you and all, but deadlines, you know how it is, clean energy won’t invent itself, stop by anytime but call first—“

“Thank you, Tony. This is really great of you,” Steve said, turning in the doorway to shake Stark’s hand.

“Yeah, well, anything for our nation’s greatest patriot,” said Tony, and he clapped him on the shoulder in a clear dismissal.

On his way back down the hall, a man caught up with him carrying a folder with all the information Tony had requested. And while he said his farewells to Dr. Banner, someone else—out of breath—arrived holding the key to Steve’s new apartment, a printed map, and a phone number for a moving company.

And he was out of SHIELD’s purview. Just like that.

***

Three days later, Steve was fully unpacked in his new apartment (didn’t take long—didn’t own much), and had explored much of the surrounding neighborhood. Some of it was still under construction. Steve had tried, tentatively, to offer his help in some of the reconstruction effort. The trouble was, people either recognized him (even not in uniform) or shooed him off because he wasn’t one of the paid laborers. 

To Steve’s delight, there was a great art supply store just around the corner from his new place. He’d spent a reverent afternoon in the aisles of the store, just breathing in the potential of all the unused supplies. With great care he selected a few good charcoals, a set of colored pencils, and a shiny new sketchbook that he was almost afraid to open for fear of soiling its pages. There was a display of art markers that caught his eye, but, hey, he lived around the corner from this place now. Could always come back.

And that was new. Thinking of himself in this new time. Establishing himself. Planning for the next day. He was still caught up in his head, in the past, more often than not, but progress was progress.

Then, on day three, Steve figured that he should take Stark up on his offer to drop by again. Bypassing the receptionists this time, Steve headed straight for the elevator in Stark Tower and hit the button for floor 60. Once he arrived, though, he realized that he still didn’t know the code to get into Tony’s workspace, so he headed for Banner’s lab instead.

“Hi,” Steve said. Bruce looked up from where he was using a syringe to pull liquid out of a beaker.

“Hello,” said Bruce. “Are you here to see Tony again?”

“He said I could drop by.” He’d said ‘call first,’ but Steve didn’t have a phone yet in his new apartment, and the cell phone store down the street was very…modern, and therefore intimidating.

“He’s—he’s in California this week,” Bruce said.

“Oh. Well.”

“What did you need to see him for?”

“Nothing…in particular,” said Steve, realizing that this was so. “Just, um, looking for a way to pass the time, I guess.”

There was a long moment in which both men were silent. Then Bruce said, “I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to…if you wanted to spend some time here. It gets very…quiet without Tony around.” 

“If you wouldn’t mind…”

“No, it’s fine.”

Smiling with relief, Steve cast about for something to say. “What are you working on?”

“Oh.” Bruce looked down at the syringe that he was still holding. “Um. It’s a new kind of ultra-flexible polymer.”

Steve blinked at him.

“It’s a bit embarrassing,” Bruce admitted. “But I’m trying to make a pair of pants that will…survive one of my…transformations.”

“Oh,” said Steve. He made his way to sit down in a desk chair. “Gee, I would’ve thought that’s the last thing you’d want to work on.”

“Yeah, well, I learned that if I work on the same project Tony’s working on, I get to deal with him running in and out all the time and generally shoving his face where it doesn’t belong.”

Laughing, Steve said, “That does seem like something he’d do.”

“So,” Bruce shrugged, “I picked something else.” There was a pause as he picked up a test tube and emptied the syringe in it, then fitted it into a machine on an adjacent lab bench.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to pry,” Steve said, “but I’m curious: during—you know—everything. Last week. You really didn’t seem like you were that enthusiastic about…”

“…the Other Guy?” Bruce filled in.

“Yeah. So why work on something for…?”

“Last week made me realize something,” said Bruce, as he repeated the process he’d just completed with another test tube. “I’ve worked for years to gain control over Hu—over the Other Guy. I have much more control now than I ever have. For a long time, I was hunting for a cure, but I’ve pretty much acknowledged that’s not something that’s possible. And then I wanted to make up for the bad things I’ve done by practicing medicine in—less-privileged areas of the world. 

“But last week was the first time I had triggered a transformation other than just to test myself. And I—I remembered more, afterward. And I remember the Other Guy making that leap from the top of this tower to catch Tony as he fell. I guess it’s just really making me think that if he—if the Other Guy can differentiate from the ‘good guys’ and the ‘bad guys’—and it must come from that extra control, from _letting him out,_ rather than just a—spontaneous event…there must be something to this. Maybe I can help more than just by exercising what little medical knowledge I have.

“And I’m a scientist,” he said, shrugging. “Maybe I can help humanity with some research. This is a perfect environment for it. Anyway, I’m tired of running from…everything. Maybe it’s time to just stop and…see who I really am.” Bruce seemed to suddenly realize he’d been rambling. “And, uh, that’s why I’m working on this,” he said, and started typing something into a laptop computer.

“Agent Coulson said you were trying to develop a serum like the one Dr. Erskine used on me,” said Steve.

Bruce winced.

“No, I—Dr. Erskine told me about someone else who had used the serum, someone who used it before it was finished. I met this man. He called himself the ‘Red Skull.’ Dr. Erskine said that he thought the effects of the serum reflected the person who used it, who they are. Red Skull was an evil man, and it showed in how he had changed. He had—the way he looked changed.”

“I think I can gather from the ‘Red Skull,’” said Bruce wryly.

“He wouldn’t have won any beauty pageants,” said Steve with a small smile. 

“So you’re saying the Other Guy is an expression of who I am? I’m actually an enormous green rage monster?”

“No!” said Steve. “I mean, sort of. Red Skull looked demonic. He was mad before the serum, but then the serum drove him further into his madness. He was evil—and that was what was reflected. _You,_ though, you’re not—big and green all the time. I think, I mean, I imagine that you—I knew guys, back—where I came from—who were sort of like you. They had something rotten in their pasts,” Steve could see in Bruce’s eyes that he’d hit on something with that, “that gave them this anger that burned below the surface. But they were some of the gentlest guys I ever met. They wouldn’t let it out. But you could tell it was there.

“You’re like them, except you—like you said, you can control it more, now. And maybe it can do some good. I know it did some good last week.”

“Well,” said Bruce, after a long moment, and pushed his glasses back up his nose, bending to his laptop. Before he started typing, though, he straightened back up and looked at Steve. “You’re a really good guy, Steve.”

Steve didn’t know what to say. Another long, silent moment passed, and then Steve said, “So, giant elastic pants, huh?”

“That’s the idea,” said Bruce, with a tiny smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be Darcy in the next chapter, I promise for realz.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Various science-y phrases reached Darcy’s ears as she crossed the room (“quantum flux,” “deadly bacteria,” and even a scandalized “ _massive_ amounts of gamma radiation”), snagging a few hors d’oeuvres off of waiters’ trays as she went. She nonchalantly placed herself between Jane and Erik, who were talking to each other quietly, approaching them from behind so they wouldn’t notice her arrival.
> 
> “Hey, guys,” she said, at a prime moment for interruption. They both jumped. Darcy smirked. Sneaking up on people was one of her very best things.

A few days after that, Steve turned up in Bruce’s lab again, this time with his sketchbook. “Think I’ll take advantage of these great big windows you’ve got here,” he told Bruce, and pulled the desk chair to the wall of windows.

Tony came bustling back in that day, and got in both of their faces for a bit. The next day, though, Steve showed up again and there was a couch positioned in front of the windows. When Steve looked at Bruce questioningly, Bruce just shrugged, smiled, and said, “Tony.”

A week passed. Steve got to know some of the other scientists on the floor—tiny Dr. Foster took her chance to interrogate him about Thor. Tony would occasionally come through and harass Bruce, trying to get him to hire a lab assistant. Bruce would always remind Tony that _Tony_ didn’t keep a lab assistant, to which Tony would reply that he had JARVIS, and Bruce would say that he had JARVIS, too, and Tony would leave in a huff, only to return a few days later and start the conversation over again.

Pepper dropped into Bruce’s lab at one point, and Steve finally got to meet her. Pepper informed Bruce that his lawyers were making great progress on his case, and he would almost certainly be free of the whole mess inside of a month. After she left, Steve and Bruce both agreed that while Pepper was very nice, she was almost scarily put-together.

Steve would draw the view from the windows, or draw his own hands, or draw Bruce or whoever stopped by the lab that day. They didn’t talk much, at least not about anything important after that first day. Bruce eventually uncovered the fact that Steve had barely received _any_ briefing from SHIELD about anything that had happened between the end of World War II and 2012. Upon finding this out, Bruce called up Wikipedia on his StarkPad and shoved the tiny piece of technology into Steve’s hands, saying, “Here. Educate yourself.”

Bruce was also kind enough to explain things to Steve that others wouldn’t even think of explaining. Like JARVIS. It boggled his mind that someone who sounded so much like a person could actually be something on a computer. Honestly, walking around inside Stark Tower usually felt like Steve was walking around in a science fiction novel.

Sometimes they would listen to music in the lab. They’d listen to some classics, so Steve could feel more at home—though mostly they just made him feel melancholy—or Bruce would introduce him to more modern music, “although on the radio they call these the ‘golden oldies,’” said Bruce.

“Shows what they know,” said Steve.

Tony would always tell JARVIS to switch off the music whenever he barged into Bruce’s lab.

It was on one such occasion that Steve was poking around on Wikipedia—he’d started reading about the Vietnam War but had wound up on an entry for avocados—and Bruce was listening to some song about Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland when Tony came flying in the door.

“JARVIS!” The music switched off. “All right, you two,” said Tony, clapping his hands and then rubbing them together. “Time to pry you sad sacks out of the lab.”

“We’re not sad sacks!” said Steve. “Well,” he conceded, “maybe I am. But Bruce isn’t—he’s working!”

“Thanks, Steve,” said Bruce, laughing.

“When was the last time you two breathed fresh air? And don’t tell me on the way home from here, that’s a cop-out, doesn’t count.” No response. “Right! Well, you’re in luck, there’s a party tonight and I have to go so I’m taking you with me.”

“I don’t know if I feel like—“ started Steve.

“I don’t mix well with crowds,” Bruce protested.

“No arguments, _you,_ ” he pointed at Bruce, “are going because it’s about science and you’ll have a good time—don’t be a worrywart, if you can handle me jabbing you with sticks you can handle a few speakers. _You,_ ” he pointed at Steve, “Debbie Downer, are going because if you don’t you’re just gonna sit around with your mopey face being all mopey.” Steve glared at him. “Doesn’t look mopey now, but I’ve seen it: for a month now, it’s been mopey.

“So! Tuxedos! JARVIS can make sure you have tuxedos and things. Seven o’clock!” Tony started towards the door. “I’ll expect to see you both nicely turned-out and presentable for society. Banner, how much do I pay you? Can’t you afford a haircut?” Bruce put a hand to his hair. “Well, you can gel it. Don’t embarrass me, boys, or they’ll think I’ve been a bad mother. Seven o’clock!” And he was gone.

Steve and Bruce resigned themselves to facing the public that evening.

***

The problem was always what to wear.

Darcy had received an email invite from her former employer, Dr. Jane Foster, to some kind of ‘fancy science Gala do.’ Jane had clearly been in a rush when she’d sent out the email—it seemed that Jane was always in a rush lately, since Darcy hadn’t properly heard from her in almost eight months.

But, hey, might as well go to a party if her name was already on the list. There would be (she had been forewarned): famous people in attendance, a few interesting keynote speakers (interpreted through Darcy’s ‘Jane Foster filter’ as most likely to be a snorefest), and, most importantly, _free nosh._ Darcy was on pretty much the lowest rung of ladder in her current place of employment—she believed her title was technically “campaign flunkie”—so she’d been living mostly on Ramen and hope. A few well-placed canapés would not go amiss.

Darcy’s lack-of-budget also contributed mightily to her current issue: what the hell does one _wear_ to a ‘fancy science Gala do’? She had narrowed her options to the cute-but-out-of-season sundress she’d gotten last month at a thrift store (hey, shrugs and sweater-tights existed for a _reason_ ), and the one nice pair of dress trousers that she owned coupled with some kind of top, she didn’t know what yet.

“ANDY!” she called over her shoulder, giving the two options laid out on her bed the stare-down.

“WHAT?!” Andy’s voice came from down the hall.

“SUNDRESS OR SLACKS?!”

The sound of footsteps, and then Andy’s face appeared in the doorway. “Explain,” she said shortly. Andy was in a poor mood that evening, due to a grouchy supervisor at work.

“Party tonight,” said Darcy, and held up her two pieces of clothing. “Which?”

“Party? Since when can either of us afford to go to a party?”

“My former bosslady invited me!” Darcy said. “Free food, yippee! But it’s supposed to be formalwear or something, and I kind of—um—am not formal in any way?”

“Gimme,” said Andy, holding out a hand towards the sundress. She examined it. “It’s chilly out.”

“I know, that’s why I thought sweater-tights,” said Darcy.

“Go with the pants. You can rock some high heels with them, and wear a nice blouse.”

“High heels…yeah…”

Andy smiled a bit. “You can borrow a pair of mine.”

Darcy dug through the minor disaster zone that was her closet. “Thanks, but I have some nice flats that’ll work.”

“No cardigans,” forbade Andy, on her way back down the hall.

“Cardigans can be formal!” protested Darcy.

“NO!”

“Hat?!” called Darcy.

“No hats!”

“But it’s a really cute one!”

“Don’t care!”

If she didn’t get to wear a hat, then she was definitely wearing a cardigan, Darcy compromised with herself. Darcy threw on her clothes of choice, dragged a brush through her hair, smacked some blush on her cheeks, and took off for downtown, promising Andy on her way out that the dishes would _definitely_ be completed first thing in the morning. 

Two subway rides later and Darcy was making her way through the lobby of a _very_ nice hotel to the entrance to a reception hall. The guy at the door had her name on a list (Thank God for that, wouldn’t want to come all this way for no free noms), so she got in without a problem. Then the problem was just locating her former boss in the frankly ginormous hall—Jesus H., were those crystal chandeliers?!—which was going to be a problem, since Jane was approximately two inches tall. Darcy finally spotted a familiar face near one of the large, round tables: Erik Selvig, who had worked with Jane at the same time Darcy did. Hadn’t heard from him in forever either.

Various science-y phrases reached Darcy’s ears as she crossed the room (“quantum flux,” “deadly bacteria,” and even a scandalized “ _massive_ amounts of gamma radiation”), snagging a few hors d’oeuvres off of waiters’ trays as she went. She nonchalantly placed herself between Jane and Erik, who were talking to each other quietly, approaching them from behind so they wouldn’t notice her arrival.

“Hey, guys,” she said, at a prime moment for interruption. They both jumped. Darcy smirked. Sneaking up on people was one of her very best things.

“Darcy! God!” said Jane, and snatched her into a hug. “How are you?” She held her back for a look. “Dressed appropriately, as usual,” she said, pulling at the sleeve of Darcy’s cardigan. Jane was wearing what was very nearly a ballgown, and Erik was in a suit. Both looked very uncomfortable.

“Hey, if you’ve got a look that works, you should stick with it,” said Darcy, grinning. She turned to their other companion. “Hey, Erik. Long time no see.”

Erik engulfed her in a hug. She could smell scotch on his breath. “Darcy. Good to see you.”

General pleasantries were exchanged. The “How ya been”s, the “Whatcha been up to”s, etc. Darcy told them about her flunkying for the latest campaign—sometimes she couldn’t even remember who she was campaigning for—and Jane filled her in on her various travels in sharing her research. Erik was mostly quiet, which was a little weird, but something seemed to be bothering him. Darcy figured she could bug him about it later; for now, she left him to his scotch.

“So what even is this party?” Darcy finally got around to asking.

“It’s the closer for a conference,” said Jane. “Stark Industries is funding it. It’s all about ‘bringing the top scientific minds together’ or something,” Jane looked a little flattered to be included in that category. “Sharing our discoveries. I work for Stark Industries now, by the way.”

“WHAT,” exclaimed Darcy. “For how long?!”

“A few months, now.” Darcy turned to Erik for confirmation, and he gave her a sheepish look.

“You’ve been in New York this whole time and didn’t tell me? Jane! I thought we were buds!”

“I’ve been…busy,” said Jane evasively. She grabbed up a plate from the closest table. “Here, have some…unidentifiable food objects,” she said, offering the plate to Darcy.

“Jane,” said Darcy, leaning in close over the tray of canapés, “have you been researching how to get—you know—back?”

“Well,” said Jane with a blush. “Not _just_ that.”

“I thought I saw him on tv a month ago during the whole—thing. He had Mew-Mew and his red cape and everything.”

“Yeah, I was in—they sent me to—SHIELD, you know, the horrible Men In Black guys—“

“The ones who took my iPod?!” said Darcy in outrage.

“Yes, them, shhhh,” Jane said. “They sent me out of the country while that was going on, but they…they had Thor leave me a message.”

“A message.”

“Yes, um,” said Jane. “A video message.”

“Was it at least a _good_ message?”

Jane smiled a secret little smile. “Yeah, it was pretty good.”

Darcy proceeded to interrogate her—it was good to catch up with the bosslady—and when she’d gotten all the information she thought she’d ever get out of Jane, she broke off and headed for the buffet. _Free food!_ She loaded a plate up with everything, grabbed a glass of punch, and headed back to Jane’s table. Jane and Erik had entered into conversation with a group of three other scientists. The subject was clean energy.

Darcy had a lot to say about clean energy.

You know, get the right group of scientists together, and Darcy could _own_ a conversation. She sketched out her various ideas behind the politics of what—it turned out—several of them were researching in their labs at Stark Industries. Everyone was nodding along with what she was saying, so she smiled and took a sip of her punch—and almost spat it back out.

“Gah! Someone spike this?”

“That’d be me,” said a very famous and photogenic person, stepping up to her elbow.

It always took Darcy a few seconds to allow for details to sink in. “What _with?_ Moonshine?”

And then it registered to her that it was _Tony Stark_ who was laughing at her reaction, and every cell in her body curled up and went ‘Meep.’

**Author's Note:**

> I welcome feedback! Please let me know if I am screwing things up royally.


End file.
